Halo_ Evolutions - Essential Tales of the Halo Universe - Eric Nylund [145]
The Spartan was at Corporal Palmer’s elbow so quickly and so quietly that only those Marines who had been looking directly at him noticed that he had even moved. He closed the private channel and addressed the group as a whole. “Palmer, Sullivan; you’re on me. Concentrate on running until we get to the el ay ay vee—then mount up as fast as you can. Corporal, I want you on that sixty-eight. The rest of you will cover us until the el ay ay vee starts moving—we will then lay down suppression fire until you secure the em eight three won by that structure’s main entrance—I’m setting a waypoint now. This is sure to get more complicated once we are under way, so stay on your toes.”
The assembled Marines looked at one another nervously and then out at the open field that lay between themselves and the Warthogs—numbers above the tiny blue deltas indicating the objectives in their HUDs reinforced their remoteness. The Marines began systematically checking their gear in grim silence. The furtive glances that passed between them, however, spoke volumes. To wit, they were about to pit themselves against a group whose exact composition they were unsure of, that was established in a defensive position with superior elevation, and that was clearly capable of annihilating a unit more than twice their number even if it had been equipped with vehicles and support weapons. They did have one advantage, though: they had a Spartan with them. But how much could one more man, no matter how well trained or equipped, possibly affect the outcome of the coming battle?
John placed fresh magazines into both of his weapons, replaced the missing rounds in his spare magazines, and then nodded toward their destination. Without looking back he motioned for the group to move up.
“Pine Tar,” Palmer whispered sharply through the comm, “get your narrow ass up here—we’re leaving. Over.”
“Wilco, out.” Lance Corporal Pineada called from deep within the drainage tunnel. He gave a quick glance at the group in the culvert before putting the final touches on the lethal contraption he had been hiding beneath a sodden shipping pallet. He circled his handiwork gingerly, then nodded to himself, satisfied that the two scavenged jerry cans, fragmentation grenade, and mess kit that he had fashioned into a deterrent for their pursuers was nearly impossible to detect. He leaned the last jerry can against the tunnel wall by his improvised trap and joined the rest of the group.
“Couldn’t we just try sneaking around them?” Private Emerson asked feebly.
John ignored Emerson and continued. “Forget the Grunts—concentrate on the rooftops and any Jackals you see—the DESW at the eastern corner is a priority-one target.” He slung his battle rifle across his back.
Corporal Palmer had not moved from her position observing the parking area. “Chief, that Jackal isn’t just poking at our boy—it looks like it’s biting him.”
The Spartan held up a gauntleted hand. “We go in five, four. . . .” He tucked his fingers in as he counted.
“I think it’s eating him, man,” Palmer choked.
“One—then it dies first—now stow your weapon and move out.” John pointed at their intended destination and then he was gone.
The concrete beneath the Spartan had turned to dust and gravel as he launched forward. Barely half a second had passed and he was already ten meters away. Palmer slung her weapon and tore off after him; Sullivan fell in directly behind her, running for all he was worth.
Palmer was pumping her arms and trying to control her breath as she trailed behind the Spartan. She looked up from her boots and saw that his hands were no longer empty—his right hand now held a massive hard-chromed M6D, and a spare magazine was in his left. Eight thunderclaps rang out so fast that they bled together into a single long roar. At that same